Shoulders Back

One of the few memories I have of my toxic authoritarian grandfather on my mother’s side, is “shoulders back.”

I remember visiting him as a very young child, mother dropping us off with him for a couple weeks. At any moment he might come up behind me and grab my shoulders with both hands. He’d pull my shoulders back and scold me “Shoulders back! Stand up straight!” I remember feeling ashamed that I had let my shoulders relax.

This is one of those things I hadn’t thought about in a long time and recently recalled. Looking back on it now undertstanding the toxic dynamic, it’s another of those things that seemed normal at the time but now doesn’t stand up well to scrutiny. This tremendous concern with appearance, what other people will think if they see me with my shoulders down. Literally being trained to play some role in society, to mimic. This is the same guy who raised my narcissist mother, the same guy who taught her to bury her feelings deep and fear emotion.

So many times in my life I’d randomly realize my shoulders were down and like a reflex I’d pull them back, hearing grandfather’s voice in my head. I can only imagine what he put in my mother’s head.

Mementos at mother’s

When I was suddenly arrested in 2004 (see episode one) my mother and brother gathered most of my things and put them in my mother’s basement, a few states away. When I was paroled a couple years later I wasn’t able to take everything with me at that time. As a result I left a pile of “non-essential” things there.

Fast forward to now. Still working on getting my driver license back (again see episode one) and now No-Contact with my mother for over four years. It’s been so long I can’t recall everything I left there, but it’s basically all souvenirs and mementos. It would be like a surprise to me to see what’s in there.

But the one thing I’d want the most, would be the bass guitar my late father gave me for my 18th birthday, a cream-colored Peavey Foundation. A friend in college airbrushed a custom paint job on it. One of a kind.

If I were to find myself mobile again in the near future I sometimes wonder if I’d be able to get these things back, and if so how would I? Would I contact my mother and see about arranging a pick-up? It’s like a ten hour drive btw. Would I think perhaps she’d be likely to refuse so maybe try just showing up? I sometimes wonder if perhaps she’s already thrown these things away, under some ruse of needing the space.

And lastly, I wonder to myself, no matter how much I’d like these things back, if it’s worth having to come face-to-face with her. It’s one thing to talk about it dispassionately, but I wonder how my body would react, heart racing, dizzy, palms sweating. I frankly wonder if it’s even worth being in her presence for that time, or if I should just write those things off for good.

Or maybe I can get em back after the funeral 🤞